


Bake Cake Not War

by Dracothelizard



Category: Doctor Who: The Curse of Fatal Death
Genre: Bad Puns, Bakery, Enemies Turned Business Partners, Gen, Yuletide Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-21
Updated: 2014-12-21
Packaged: 2018-03-02 17:19:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2820095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dracothelizard/pseuds/Dracothelizard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Now that the Daleks and the Master have given up being evil, how are they going to spend their time? And what role will the Doctor play in their new lives?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bake Cake Not War

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dbskyler](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dbskyler/gifts).



"You've burned it again!"

 "IT IS MEANT TO BE THIS CO-LOUR!"

 The Doctor rubbed her temples. She had assumed that, since the Master and the Daleks had given up their evil ways, they would be much easier to be around. And, truth be told, she enjoyed not having them tie her up - at least not without her consent - and threaten her or a nearby planet.

 She did not enjoy the constant arguments and the shouting that came with it.

 "Why does it taste like ash, then? Eh?"

 "IT IS MEANT TO TASTE LIKE THAT."

 She stood up. "Right, I have had enough of this," she grumbled, and marched into the former prison of the Dalek spaceship. It had been turned into a kitchen, and a nice one too. "What's the problem?" she asked, striding up to the Master and one of the Daleks, and pointedly shoved them aside to stand in between them.

 The Master scowled at the Dalek. "This idiot has led the Danishes burn."

 "I DID NOT. I LEFT THEM IN THE O-VEN EX-ACT-LY AS LONG AS THE RE-CI-PE DE-MAN-DED," the Dalek said defensively.

 She glanced at the plate of Danishes that was on the table, and had to agree with the Master that they definitely looked and smelled burned. She snatched up the recipe for Danish pastries from the table. "Did you leave them in the oven for twenty minutes?"

 "I DID."

 "Dalek minutes or Earth minutes?" she asked.

 The Dalek turned its head right and left. "DA-LEK MI-NUTES," it eventually said, sounding embarrassed. "WHY DOES THAT MAT-TER?"

 "I'll explain later," the Doctor told it, patting it on the head. "For now, just leave the cakes and pastries in the oven until they look nice and golden and baked." The Daleks weren't bad at baking; they were already used to egg whisks, after all, but they still needed a nudge every now and then.

 The Master huffed. "And even if the pastries hadn't been burned, there's still the problem of the box." He pulled open a drawer, and took out a piece of bright red cardboard which he quickly folded into a box suitable for pastries and cake.

 "What problem? It looks nice," the Doctor said. "Big enough, anyway."

 The Master glared at her, and closed the box. "That is wrong with it!" he declared, pointing at the logo on the box.

 Two happy cartoon Daleks were on the lid, one holding a tray of cakes and the other holding a tray of various pastries. Above them, in big bold letters, it said DALEKTABLE CAKES & PASTRIES.

 "You'd rather use a different font?" the Doctor asked.

 The Master growled, and smashed the box with his fist. "No! I wanted to call it Masterful Cakes & Pastries!"

 Ah, of course. "Well, the Daleks do most of the baking... you just deliver them across time and space in your TARDIS," she said gently.

 "I don't just _deliver_!" he exclaimed. "I - I supervise them! I tell them which cakes and pastries to bake! My name should be on the box, not theirs!"

 "WIT-HOUT OUR CAKES AND PAS-TRIES YOU WOULD HAVE NO BUSI-NESS," the Dalek said.

 "And without me you wouldn't get them to the customers," the Master insisted, pushing the Doctor back to glare at the Dalek. "You wouldn't be able to get up a flight of stairs."

 "MOST BUIL-DINGS HAVE RAMPS FOR WHEEL-CHAIRS AND E-LE-VA-TORS. WE WILL USE THOSE."

 "Damn you, Daleks! Damn you! But fine, as you wish! I will start my _own_ baking company! With good pastries and better cakes! Masterful Cakes  & Pastries will conquer the known universe!"

 The Dalek did not seem impressed. "DA-LEK-TA-BLE CAKES AND PAS-TRIES WILL CON-QUER THE KNOWN AND UN-KNOWN U-NI-VERSE."

 "Only if they like burned Danishes," the Master sneered.

 The Doctor took another step back. Clearly this argument wasn't going to be resolved any time soon. The Daleks and the Master starting competing baking companies... the Universe had never been in bigger trouble than now. It would take all her smarts to save everyone.

 "Let's have a bake-off!" she declared.

 The Master and the Dalek turned to look at her. "What?"

 "A baking competition," she said. "It is how 21st century Great Britain settles its disputes nowadays. I'll be the sole judge."

 "AND THE WIN-NER CAN PICK THE NAME?" the Dalek asked.

 "Agreed," the Master replied, shaking the Dalek's eyestalk. "You will rue the day you challenged me, Dalek!"

 "NOT IF YOU RUE IT FIRST, MAS-TER!"

 The Doctor wandered out of the kitchen. She had now doomed herself to a life of eating cakes and pastries in order to keep the Daleks and the Master busy. But it would be worth it to maintain peace in the universe.

 She sighed. It would be a hard life, but she would suffer it nobly. She was, after all, the Doctor. 


End file.
